M-fhiiiLi: 



i!l'<:>' Willi 

•**';•;;' ill ' ''t i'- Ji 



I; .it 
1.VJ 



'^^fli/lili 






^5 -L'^''^ > 





*bv^ 




•^^o« 



V/ •, 








^ ^'V:^-, -^^ 







v-^^ 










♦ o. 



^o.. -TT,-' .0^ 



<!i. *•'"'' ^y 













"V .-^^ 




• "^j. A<^ »Vi 





^ ♦..•.* ^' 




: v\^ 




^^ -^^ 












"^"i^ 



;•• /'^■'<-'Wj /^^- '-^w:- /\ --tt" X ■ 








<v> '-^ °" A*^ '^f ^'^VT' .A 











.*'\ 











G* *3 ♦.-XT'- /V 



-^^ -^^ 




• o 








-U-o^ 












5-^ 



A^ ■<> * o , " o,T 



Ov- 






0* 










'» o. 






*bV^ 






■v-o^ 






:° '^^ ,^'^'' -^^i^'- "^.S. ,N^ ■ »>vVA'-. "^^n .<^"^ ^'^^'' -^^ ^^ ^'^%f/h.'_ -^^^ c>"^ »^«!Sli^'. •^.. .v^- /^ 



^^P-i" 









• • * -V 



^*' .."•• 









.O"-^ ^'I'^.'^o, 



.<y 



aV 



*bv'' 



^^d^ 







<^^ ,s^' _»'QiiS^"v "^^ .^ »'<cOvWa'. ■"<?•. .^'5^" '^fSIE*i'- '^^ A^ /^'%#'/):'- >. ^ 









i."-^^^ 







*^-..' 



























V •. 



J"^-^ 

y ^ 








, "t 





'^0^ 




o, *'T;t' a 

























































^'' "V.^'^ 












'0* 









'. ^^M.<i oV-^^Sk'- «>bv^ :i^^^< '-^"^0^ f 








*bV 



















"^« A 







^o^^^ 

















o5°o 



vo ♦-..«' o; 











TK?£5,riu]^et_vrn.- 



(/ 



, t^*-* c.-e^o . /-(. 




c 
t 



'\ 



m< 



" / 



la 



Oil 



all-- 






iW 




E5T€S0LAV1AT 



SEP 6 1886 ' ' ' 






Copyright, ISSn, 
By Estes and Lauriat. 



< 



^ 



aiuibcvsita iflvcss: 
John Wilson and Son, CAMBRincE. 



THE EARL'S RETURN. 



o»{o 




/^^\ AGGED and tall stood the castle wall, 
"'' And the Squires, at their sport, in the great 

South Court, 
■ tMi o. Lounged all day long from stable to hall 

j/ W \ Laughingly, lazily, one and all. 

The land about was barren and blue. 
And swept by the wing of the wet sea-mew. 
Seven fishermen's huts on a shelly shore : 
Sand-heaps behind, and sand-banks before : 
And a black champaign streaked white all through 
To a great salt pool which the ocean drew, 
Sucked into itself, and disgorged it again 
To stagnate and steam on the mineral plain ; 
Not a tree or a bush in the circle of sight. 
But a bare black thorn which the sea-winds had withered 
With the drifting scum of the surf and blight. 
And some patches of gray grass-land to the right, 
Where the lean red-hided cattle were tethered : 
A reef of rock wedged the water in twain. 
And a stout stone tower stood square to the main. 




in the grfqr(§°^ttlC!'^r■'■, 

LangtliAgly 1 Iqzily. 



And the flakes of the spray tliat were jerked away 

From the froth on the Hp of the bleak blue sea 

Were sometimes flung by the wind, as it swung 

Over turret and terrace and balcony, 

To the garden below where, in desolate corners 

Under the mossy green parapet there. 

The lilies crouched, rocking their white heads like 

mourners, 
And burned off the heads of the flowers that were 
Pining and pale in their comfortless bowers, 
Dry-bushed with the sharp stubborn lavender. 




W^ 



And paven with disks of the torn sunflowers. 

Which, day by day, were strangled, and stripped 

Of their ravelling fringes and brazen bosses. 

And the hardy mary-buds nipped and ripped 

Into shreds for the beetles that lurked in the mosses. 





Here she lived alone, and from year to year 

She saw the black belt of the ocean appear 

At her casement each morn as she rose ; and each morn 

Her eye fell first on the bare black thorn. 

This was all: nothing more: or sometimes on the shore 

The fishermen sang when the fishing was o'er; 

Or the lowing of oxen fell dreamily, 

Close on the shut of the glimmering eves. 

Through some gusty pause in the moaning sea. 

When the pools were splashed pink by the thirsty beeves. 

Or sometimes, when the pearl-lighted morns drew the tinges 

Of the cold sunrise up their amber fringes, 

A white sail peered over the rim of the main, 

Looked all about o'er the empty sea, 

Stao^tjered back from the fine line of white lisfht ajjain, 

And dropped down to another world silently. 

Then she breathed freer. With sickening" dread 

She had watched five pale young moons unfold 

From their notchy cavern in light, and spread 

To the fuller light, and again grow old. 

And dwindle away to a luminous shred. 




" He will not come back till the Spring s green and gold. 
And I would that I witli the leaves were dead, 
Quiet somewhere with them in the moss and the mould, 
When he and the summer come this way," she said. 



And when the dull sky darkened down to the edges. 

And the keen frost kindled in star and spar. 

The sea might be known by a noise on the ledges 

Of the long crags, gathering power from afar 

Through his roaring bays, and crawling back 

Hissing, as o'er the wet pebbles he dragged 

His skirt of foam frayed, dripping, and jagged, 

And reluctantly fell down the smooth hollow shell 

Of the night, whose lustrous surface of black 

In spots to an intense blue was worn. 

But later, when up on the sullen sea-bar 

The wide large-lighted moon had arisen. 

Where the dark and voluminous ocean grew luminous, 

Helping after her slowly one little shy star 

That shook blue in the cold, and looked forlorn, 

The clouds were troubled, and the wind from his prison 

Behind them leaped down with a light laugh of scorn ; 

Then the last thing she saw was that bare black thorn ; 

For the forked tree, as the bleak blast took it, 

Howled through it, and beat it, and bit it, and 

shook it, 
Seemed to visibly waste and wither and wizen. 





And the snow was lifted into the air 
Layer by layer, 

And turned into vast white clouds that flew 
Silent and fleet up the sky, and were riven 
And jerked into chasms which the sun 

leaped through, 
Opening crystal gulfs of a breezy blue 
Fed with rainy lights of the April heaven. 
From eaves and leaves the quivering dew 
Sparkled off; and the rich earth, black 

and bare. 
Was starred with snowdrops everywhere; 
And the crocus upturned its flame, and 

burned 
Here and there. 



" The Summer," she said, " cometh blithe 

and bold ; 
And the crocus is lit for her welcoming; 
And the days will have garments of purple 

and gold ; 
But I would be left by the pale green 

Spring 
With the snowdrops somewhere under 

the mould ; 
For I dare not think what the Summer 

may bring." 



Pale she was as tlie bramble blooms 

That fill the long fields with their faint perfumes, 

When the May-wind flits finely through sun-threaded 

showers, 
Breathing low to himself in his dim meadow-bowers. 
And her cheek each year was paler and thinner, 
And white as the pearl that was hung at her ear, 
As her sad heart sickened and pined within her, 
And failed and fainted from )'ear to year. 
So that the Seneschal, rough and gray. 
Said, as he looked in her face one day, 
" Saint Catherine save all good souls, I pray. 
For our pale young lady is paling away. 
Oh the Saints," he said, smiling bitter and grim, 
" Know she "s too fair and too good for him ! " 
Sometimes she walked on the upper leads. 
And leaned on the arm of the weather-worn Warden. 
Sometimes she sat 'twixt the mildewy beds 
Of the sea-singed flowers in the Pleasaunce Garden. 
Till the rotting blooms that lay thick on the walks 
Were combed by the white sea-gust like a rake. 
And the stimulant steam of the leaves and stalks 
Made the coiled memory, numb and cold. 
That slept in her heart like a dreaming snake, 
Drowsily lift itself fold by fold. 
And gnaw and gnaw hungrily, half awake. 




,J nir(|ei\' 



Sometimes she looked from the window below 

To the great South Court, and the Squires, at their sport, 

Loungingly loitering to and fro. 

She heard the grooms there as they cursed one another. 

She heard the great bowls falling all day long 

In the bowling-alleys. She heard the song 

Of the shock-headed Pages that drank without stint in 

The echoing courts, and swore hard at each other. 

She saw the red face of the rough wooden Ouintin, 

And the swinging sand-bag ready to smother 

The awkward Squire that missed the mark. 

And, all day long, between the dull noises 

Of the bowls, and the oaths, and the singing voices, 

The sea boomed hoarse till the skies were dark. 

But when the swallow, that sweet new-comer. 
Floated over the sea in the front of the summer, 
The salt dry sands burned white, and sickened 
Men's sight in the glaring horn of the bay ; 
And all things that fasten, or float at ease 
In the silvery light of the leprous seas 
With the pulse of a hideous life were quickened. 
Fell loose from the rocks, and crawled crosswise away, 
Slippery sidelong crabs, half strangled 
By the white sea grasses in which they were tangled. 
And those half-living creatures, orbed, rayed, and sharp- 
angled, 
Fan-fish, and star-fish, and polypous lumps, 
Hueless and boneless, that languidly thickened, 
Or flat-faced, or spiked, or ridged with humps. 
Melting off from their clotted clusters and clumps 
Sprawled over the sliore in the heat of the day. 




An hour before the sun was set 

A darker ripple rolled over the sea; 

The white rocks quivered in wells of jet; 

And the great West, opening breathlessly 

Up all his inmost orange, gave 

Hints of something distant and sweet 

That made her heart swell; far up the wave 

The clouds that lay piled in the golden heat 

Were turned into types of the ancient mountains 

In an ancient land; the weeds, which forlorn 

Waves were swaying neglectfully, 

By their sound, as they dipped into sparkles that 

dripped 
In the emerald creeks that ran up from the shore, 
Brought back to her fancy the bubble of fountains 
Leaping and falling continually 
In valleys where she should wander no more. 





And when, over all of these, the night 

Among her mazy and milk-white signs. 

And clustered orbs, and zigzag lines, 

Burst into blossom of stars and light. 

The sea was glassy ; the glassy brine 

Was paven with lights, — blue, crystalline, 

And emerald keen ; the dark world hung 

Balanced under the moon, and swung 

In a net of silver sparkles. Then she 

Rippled her yellow hair to her knee, 

Bared her warm white bosom and throat. 

And from the lattice leaned athirst. 

There, on the silence did she gloat 

With a dizzy pleasure steeped in pain. 

Half catching the soul of the secret that blended 

God with his starlight, then feeling it vain, 

Like a pining poet ready to burst 

With the weight of the wonder that grows in his brain, 

Or a nishtinfrale, mute at the sound of a lute 

That is swelling and breaking his heart with its stram. 

Waiting, breathless, to die when the music is ended. 



For the sleek and beautiful midnight stole, 

Like a faithless friend, her secret care, 

Crept through each pore to the source of the soul. 

And mocked at the anguish which he found there, 

Shining away from her, scornful and fair 

In his pitiless beauty, refusing to share 

The discontent which he could not control. 

The water-rat, as he skulked in the moat, 

Set all the slumbrous lilies afloat. 

And sent a sharp quick pulse along 

The stagnant light, that heaved and swung 

The leaves together. Suddenly 

At times a shooting star would spin 

Shell-like out of heaven, and tumble in, 

And burst o'er a city of stars ; but she, 

As he dashed on the back of the zodiac. 

And quivered and glowed down arc and node. 

And split sparkling into infinity, 

Thought that some angel, in his reveries 

Thinking of earth, as he pensively 

Leaned over the star-grated balcony 

In his palace among the Pleiades, 

And grieved for the sorrow he saw in the land, 

Had dropped a white lily from his loose hand. 




And thus many a night, steeped pale in the light 

Of the stars, when the bells and clocks 

Had ceased in the towers, and the sound of the 

hours 
Was eddying about in the rocks. 
Deep-sunken in bristling broidery between the black 

oak Fiends sat she, 
And under the moth-flitted canopy 
Of the mighty antique bed in her chamber, 
With wild eyes drinking up the sea, 
And her white hands heavy with jewelry, 
Flashing as she loosed languidly 
Her satins of snow and of amber. 




And as, fold by fold, these were rippled and rolled 

To her feet, and lay huddled in ruins of gold, 

She looked like some pale spirit above 

Earth's dazzling passions forever flung by, 

Freed from the stains of an earthly love, 

And those splendid shackles of pride that press 

On the heart till it aches with the gorgeous stress, 

Quitting the base Past remorsefully. 

And so she put by the coil and care 

Of the day that lay furled like an idle weft 

Of heaped spots which a bright snake hath left, 

Or that dark house, the blind worm's lair. 

When the star-winged moth from the windows 

hath crept. 
Steeped her soul in a tearful prayer. 
Shrank into her naked self, and slept. 

And as she slumbered, starred and eyed 
All over with angry gems, at her side, 
The Fiends in the oak kept ward and watch 
And the querulous clock, on its rusty catch. 
With a quick tick, husky and thick. 
Clamored and clacked at her sharply. 







Unsoothed from slumber she awoke 

An hour ere dawn. The lamp burned faint. 

The Fiends glared at her out of the oak. 

She rose, and fell at the shrine of the Saint. 

There with clasped hands to the Mother 

Of many sorrows, in sorrow, she prayed; 

Till all things in the room melted into each other, 

And vanished in gyres of flickering shade. 

Leaving her all alone, with the face 

Of the Saint growing large in its one bright place. 

Then on a sudden, from far, a fear 

Through all her heart its horror drew. 

As of something hideous growing near. 

Cold fingers seemed roaming through her damp hair; 

Her lips were locked. The power of prayer 

Left her. She dared not turn. She knew. 

From his panel atilt on the wall up there. 

The crim Earl was gazing her through and through. 




But when the casement, a grisly square, 
Flickered with clay, she flung it wide, 
And looked below. The shore was bare. 
In the mist tumbled the dismal tide. 
One ghastly pool seemed solid white; 
The forked shadow of the thorn 
Fell through it, like a raven rent 
In the steadfast blank down which it went. 
The blind world slowly gathered sight. 
The sea was moaninsr on to morn. 



'£> 



And the Summer into the Autumn waned. 

And under the watery Hyades 

The gray sea swelled, and the thick sky rained, 

And the land was darkened by slow decrrees. 

But oft, in the low West, the day 

Smouldering sent up a sullen flame 

Along the dreary waste of gray, 

As though in that red region lay, 

Heaped up, like Autumn weeds and flowers 

For fire, its thorny fruitless hours, 

And God said, "Burn it all away!" 

When all was dreariest in the skies. 

And the gusty tract of twilight muttered, 

A strange slow smile grew into her eyes, 

As though from a great wa\- off it came 

And was weary ere down to her lips it fluttered. 

And turned into a sigh, or some soft name 

Whose syllables sounded likest sighs, 

Half smothered in sorrow before they were uttered. 











^^ /^n.(! Ifiuii'a«((i iu«® 5. 5;gK 





p- 



Sometimes, at night, a music was rolled — 

A ripple of silver harp-strings cold — 

From the halls below where the Minstrel sung. 

With the silver hair, and the golden tongue, 

And the eyes of passionless, peaceful blue 

(Like twilight which faint stars gaze througli), 

Wise with the years which no man knew. 

And first the music, as though the wings 

Of some blind angel were caught in the strings, 

Fluttered with weak endeavor: anon 

The uncaged heart of music grew bold 

And cautiously loosened, length by length, 

The golden cone of its great undertone. 

Like a strong man using mild language to one 

That is weaker, because he is sure of his strength. 



But once — and it was at the fall of the day, 

When she, if she closed her eyes, did seem 

To be wandering far, in a sort of dream, 

With some lost shadow, away, away, 

Down the heart of a golden land which she 

Remembered a great way over the sea. 

There came a trample of horses and men ; 

And a blowing of horns at the castle gate ; 

Then a clattering noise ; then a pause ; and then. 

With the sudden jerk of a heavy weight, 

And a wrangling and jangling and clinking and clanking, 

The sound of the falling of cable and chain ; 

And a grumbling over the dewy planking 

That shrieked and sung with the weight and strain ; 

And the rough Seneschal bawled out in the hall, 

" The Earl and the Devil are come back aeain ! " 




* -^T^^Tv ■■'■ f,i . * 



<"'!, 



..„V 









lll.th!-*''' 




Her heart stood still for a moment or more. 
Then suddenly tugged, and strained, and tore 
At the roots, which seemed to give way beneath. 
She rushed to the window, and held her breatli. 
High up on the beach were the long black ships, 
And the brown sails hung from the masts in strips; 
And the surf was whirled over and over them. 
And swept them dripping from stern to stem. 
Within, in the great scjuare court below. 
Were a hundred rough-faced men, or so. 
And one or two pale fair-haired slaves 
Whom the Earl had brought over the winter waves. 

There was a wringing of horny hands ; 

And a swearing of oaths; and a great deal of laughter; 

The grim Earl growling his hoarse commands 

To the Warden that followed him growling after; 

A lowing of cattle along the wet sands ; 

And a plashing of hoofs on the slippery rafter. 

As the long-tailed black-maned horses each 

Went over the bridge from the gray sea-beach. 




Uk« (lr''|i«'l!la.t plung« s.uJ;lil> (1°«\ fr°m tk« tkurJv 
|nt» a. J'i, thit i^ gr°.\n;n| u.n(!«r, 



Now muffled and thick; now loud, and more 

Loud as he came near the chamber door. 

Then there fell, with a rattle and shock, 

An iron glove on the iron lock, 

And the door burst open — the Earl burst through it 

But she saw him not. The window-pane. 

Far off, grew large and small again ; 

Tlie staggering light did wax and wane, 

Till there came a snap of the heavy brain ; 

And a slow-subsiding pulse of pain ; 

And the whole world darkened into rest, 

As the grim Earl pressed to his grausome breast 

His white wife. She hung heavy there 

On his shoulder without breath. 

Darkly filled with sleepy death 

From her heart up to lier eyes ; 

Dead asleep : and ere he knew it 

(How Death took her by surprise 

Helpless in her great despair) 

Smoothing back her yellow hair, 

He kissed her icy brows; unwound 

His rough arms, and she fell to the ground. 



v^prr' 



Fv fke icrf^M W4,J lv<j ,rv.P»,.-6.4iie 

But wK<rv£((«r.-ft,j,te' v/er-= firreij ip^ilr^ , 

'(\)°v>/ I iK"x ,K' 'ti'or\ff,= 'f b'&'r.' • • • • 
■Ha.c| iM w'nvK'^ b^^Tv. w;ier nvKV ^K= w*.t Qla*^*--^ 
TK^I''^ Ki(i f\e/Cr k'-i\ ^irxg, I M't,^- 
But ««er 'i^te. >f<':^ te|«,r^ f l»<,/«r 
£^e>,uy ""v fcvrtK hiik K»"v ''t'fS'i l°P«/jr. 




%, 







_;i.ig^SiWi 




And so she died, — the pale-faced girl. 

And, for nine days after that, the Earl 

Fumed and fret, and raved and swore, 

Pacing up and down the chamber floor, 

And tearing his black beard as he went. 

In the fit of his sullen discontent. 

And the Seneschal said it was fearful to hear him ; 

And not even the weather-worn Warden went near him ; 

And the shock-headed Pages huddled anear, 

And bit their white lips till they bled, for fear. 



But at last he bade them lift her lightly, 

And bury her by the gray sea-shore, 

Where the winds that blew from her own land nightly 

Might wail round her grave through the wild rocks hoar. 

So they lifted her lightly at dead of night, 

And bore her down by the long torch-light, — 

Lank-haired faces, sallow and keen. 

That burned out of the glassy pools between 

The splashing sands which, as they plunged through. 

The coffin-lead weighed them down into; 

And their feet, as they plucked them up, left pits 

Which the water oozed into and out of by fits — 

— And so to the deep-mouthed bays black brim, 

Where the pale priests, all white-stoled and dim, 

Lifted the cross and chanted the hymn. 

That her soul might have peace when her bones were 

dust. 
And her name be written among the Just. 
The Warden walked after the Seneschal grim ; 
And the shock-headed Pages walked after him : 
And with mattock and spade a grave was made. 
Where they carved the cross, and they wrote her name. 
And, returning each by the way that he came. 
They left her under the bare black thorn. 



V 







'X'he salt sea-wind sang shrill in the head of it; 
And the bitter night grew chill with the dread of it; 
When the great round moon rose up forlorn 
From the reefs, and whitened towards the morn. 
For the forked tree, as the bleak blast took it. 
Howled through it, and beat it, and bit it, and shook it, 
Like a living thing bewitclied and bedeviled, 
Visibly shrunk, and shuddered and shrivelled. 




«>=sSS^ 



^A.nd ao'ain the swallow, that false new-comer, 
Fluttered over the sea in the front of the summer; 
A careless singer, as he should be 
That only skimmeth the mighty sea; "^^ 

Dipped his wings as he came and went, "^ 

And chirruped and twittered for heart's content, . ■-— 
And built on the new-made grave. But when 
The Summer was over he flew back again. 




:<i^ 




And the Earl, as years went by, and his life 

Grew listless, took him another wife : 

And the Seneschal grim and the Warden gray 

Walked about in their wonted way: 

And the lean-jawed shock-haired Pages too 

Sung and swilled as they used to do. 

And the grooms and the squires gamed and swore 

And quarrelled again as they quarrelled before; 

And the flowers decayed in their dismal beds. 

And dropped off from their lean shanks one by one, 

Till nothing was left but the stalks and the heads, 

Clumped into heaps, or ripped into shreds, 

To steam into salt in the sickly sun. 

And the cattle lowed late up the glimmering plain. 

Or dipped knee-deep, and splashed themselves 

In the pools spat out by the spiteful main, 

Wallowing in sandy dikes and delves: 

And the blear-eyed filmy sea did boom 

W^ith his old m3-sterious hungering sound: 

And the wet wind wailed in the chinks of the tomb. 

Till the weeds in the surf were drenched and drowned. 

But once a stranger came over the wave. 

And paused by the pale-faced Lady's grave. 




It was when, just about to set, 

A sadness held the sinking sun. 

The moon delayed to shine as yet : 

The Ave-Mary chime was done: 

And from the bell-tower leaned the ringers 



And in the chancel paused the singers, 

With lingering looks, and clasped fingers: 

And the day reluctantly turned to his rest, 

Like some untold life, that leaves exprest 

But the half of its hungering love ere it close: 

So he went sadly toward his repose 

Deep in the heart of the slumbrous waves 

Kindled far off in the desolate West. 

And the breeze sprang up in the cool sea-caves. 

The casde stood with its courts in shade. 

And all its toothed towers imprest 

On the sorrowful light that sunset made, — 

Such a light as sleeps shut up in the breast 

Of some pining crimson-hearted rose. 

Which, as you gaze at it, grows and grows 

And all the warm leaves overflows ; 

Leaving its sweet source still to be guest. 

The crumpled shadow of the thorn 

Crawled over the sand-heaps raggcdh-. 

And over the gray stone cross forlorn. 

And on to that one man musing there 

Moveless, while o'er him the night crept on, 

And the hot yellow stars, slowly, one after one. 

Mounted into the dark blue air 

And brightened, and brightened. Then suddenly, 

And sadly and silently, 

Down the dim breezy brink of the sea sank the sun. 



1 




_JTn4 all in T'"=tllf,l-{-oWfrS .rnpffSf 





Ere the moon was abroad, the owl 
Made himself heard in^ 

the echoing tower 
Three times, four times. The bat 

with his cowl 
Came and went round the lonely Bower 
Where dwelt of yore the Earl's lost Lady. 
There night after night, for years, in vain 
The lingering moon had looked through 

the pane. 
And missed the face she used to find there, 
White and wan like some mountain flower 
In its rocky nook, as it paled and pined there. 
Only known to the moon and the wind there. 
Lights flitted faint in the halls down lower 
From lattice to lattice, and then glowed steady. 
The dipping gull: and the long gray pool: 
And the reed that shows which way the breeze blows 
From the wide warm sea to the low black land: 
And the wave makes no sound on the soft yellow 
But the inland shallows sharp and small 
Are swarmed about with the sultry midge. 
And the land is still, and the ocean still: 
And the weeds in the rifted rocks at will 
Move on the tide, and float or glide. 
And into the silent western side 
Of the heaven the moon begins to fall. 
But is it the fall of a plover's call 
That is answered warily, low yet shrill. 
From the sand-heapt mound and the rocky ridge ? 
And now o'er the dark plain so wild and wide 
Falls the note of a horn from the old drawbridge. 



cool, 
sand : 



Who is it that waits at the castle gates? 

Call in the minstrel, and fill the bowl. 

Bid him loose the great music and let the song roll. 

Fill the bowl. 

And first, as was due, to the Earl he bowed : 

Next to all the Sea-chieftains, blithe friends of the Earl's : 

Then advanced through the praise of the murmuring crowd, 

And sat down, as they bade him, and all his black curls 

Bowed over his harp, as in doubt which to choose 

From the melodies coiled at his heart. For a man 

O'er some Beauty asleep for one moment might muse. 

Half in love, ere he woke her. So ere he began, 

He paused over his song. And they brought him, the Squires, 

A heavy gold cup witli the red wine ripe in it. 

Then wave over wave of the sweet sih'cr wires 

'Gan ripple, and the minstrel took heart to begin it. 

A harper that harps thorough mountain and glen, 

Wandering, wandering" the wide world over. 

Sweetest of singers, yet saddest of men. 

His soul's lost Lady in vain to discover. 

Most fair and most frail of the daughters of men. 

Oh blest and oh curst the man that should love her! 

Who has not loved .'' and who has not lost ? 

Wherever he wander, the wide world over, 

Singing by city, and castle, and plain, 

Abiding never, forever a rover, 

Each man that shall hear him will swear almost 

In the minstrel's song that his heart can discover 

The self-same lady b\' wiiom it was crost, 

For love is love the wide world over. 

What shall he liken his love unto? 
Have you seen some cloud the sun sets through, 
When the lino;erin2: niirlit is close at hand? 
Have you seen some rose lie on the snow? 




Ii^/' "K '.'"'' 






iMfl' .5-.';' 





1.' riff y'*t '"'''• "vi // ' ■' 



Ki \l' 







i/ 



^^ii 








.-J\„^ a 



©ix"!.! XM pr.\;JcJ «.h;|c- the /\,ii.'lr^l -'uiig 

'And MK'J wa? "i'k v°:'« i- *= AWN viw'- 

tj^ut iK* E^4tl grO* p^Kr mOf'' i.M llvV° 

q'Kid ""^ imi wj-J lh= fill. jAiTggSSI^tJllo r'ir- 3 

Of III' 'I'i. .njtif p_^j§rj{',jllJ.'«r MiT^r'SsfSf^" 



V 



And the minstrel sung, and they praised and listened, 

Gazed and praised while the minstrel sung. 

Flusht was each cheek, and each fixt eye glistened. 

And husht was each voice to the minstrel's tongue. 

But the Earl grew paler more and more 

As the song of the Singer grew louder and clearer; 

And so dumb was the hall, you might hear the roar 

Of the sea in its pauses grow nearer and drearer. 

And . . . hush ! hush ! hush ! 

Oh, was it the wind.? or was it the rush 

Of the restless waters that tumble and splash 

On the wild sea-rocks.? or was it the crash 

Of stones on the old wet bridge up there? 

Or the sound of the tempest come over the main.? 

— Nay, but just now the night was fair. 

Was it the march of the midnight rain 

Clattering down in the courts.? or the crash 

Of armor yonder ? . . . Listen again ! 

Can it be lightning? — can it be thunder? 

For a light is all round the lurid hall 

That reddens and reddens the windows all. 

And far away you may hear the fall 

As of rafter and bowlder splitting asunder. 

It is not the thunder, and it is not the lightning 

To which the castle is sounding and brightening, 

But something worse than lightning or thunder; 

For what is this that is coming yonder? 




Whicli way ? Here ! Where ? 

Call the men ! ... Is it there ? 

Call them out! Ring the bell! 

Ring the Fiend back to Hell ! 

Ring, ring the alarum for mercy ! . . . Too late ! 

It has crawled up the walls — it has burst in the gate — 

It looks through the windows — it creeps near the hall — 

Near, more near — red and clear — 

It is here ! 

Now the saints save us all ! 

And little, in trutli, bools it ringing the bell. 

For the fire is loose on its way one may tell 

By the hot simmering whispers and humming up tliere 

In the oak-beams and rafters. Now one of the Squires 

His elbow hath thrust through the half-smouldered door, — 

Such a hole as some rat for his brown wife might bore, — 

And straightway in snaky, white, wavering spires 

The thin smoke twirls through, and spreads eddying in 

gyres 
Here and there toucht with \-anishing tints from the glare 
That has swathed in its rose-light the sharp turret stair. 
Soon the door ruined through : and in tumbled a cloud 
Of black vapor. And first 't was all blackness, and then 
The quick forked fires leaj^t out from their shroud 
In the blackness : and through it rushed in the armed 

men 
From the court-yard. And then there was flying and 

fiohtino; 

And praying and cursing, — confusion confounded. 

Each man, at wild hazard, through smoke ramparts smiting. 

Has struck ... is it friend ? is it foe ? Who is wounded ? 



.^, 



^ 




::ii^' 







Whirhv 



Wlifrf! 







r< 



I Way! 

•Here 

^"^ (qll the mfnl . . • ir,t There' 
(^11 tlim°"t' Rin^ihf Ijfll! 

Riria, WtvtjttiC qlqruin fr mfr(y' Jou |ri|-p i 

It to crqw|P(| u|i ihPvrqlK - If Iiq5 |)ur!t In Ike 3atf- 
[■^|ool<^inth( wlnJoni-ltcrpeM nearttirfiqll — 

It'ihfe! , 




But the Earl, — who last saw him ? Who cares ? who knows ? 
Some one, no doubt, by the weight of his blows. 

And they all, at times, heard his oath, — so they swore: 

Such a cry as some speared wild beast might give vent to 
When the lean dogs are on him, and forth with that roar 
Of desolate wrath, the life is sent too. 
If he die, he will die with the dying about him, 
And his red wet sword in his hand, never doubt him : 
If he live, perchance he will bear his new bride 
Through them all, past the bridge, to the wild seaside. 
And there, whether he leave, or keep his wife still. 
There 's the free sea round him, new lands, and new life 
still. 

And . . . but ah, the red light there! And high up and 
higher 

The soft, warm, vivid sparkles crowd kindling, and wander 

Far away down the breathless blue cone of the nio-ht. 

Saints! can it be that the ships are on fire. 

Those fierce hot clots of crimson lieht. 

Brightening, whitening in the distance yonder.? 

Slowly over the slumbrous dark 

Up from those fountains of fire spark on spark 

(You might count them almost) floats silent: and clear 

In the steadfast glow the great cross-beams. 

And the sharp and delicate masts show black ; 

While wider and higher the red light streams, 

And oozes and overflows at the back. 

Then faint through the distance a sound you hear. 

And the bare poles totter and disappear. 



Of the Earl, in truth, the Seneschal swore 

(And over the ocean this tale he bore) 

That when, as he fled on that last wild night, 

He had gained the other side of the moat. 

Dripping, he shook off his wet leathern coat. 

And turning round beheld, from basement 

To cope, the castle swathed in light, 

And, revealed in the glare through My Lady's casement, 

He saw, or dreamed he saw, this sight — 

Two forms (and one for the Earl's he knew, 

By the long shaggy beard and the broad back too) 

Struggling, grappling, like things half human. 

The other, he said, he but vaguely distinguished, 

When a sound like the shriek of an agonized woman 

Made him shudder, and lo, all the vision was gone! 

Ceiling and floor had fallen through. 

In a glut of vomited flame extinguished; 

And the still fire rose and broadened on. 




How fearful a tiling is fire! 

You might make up your mind to die by water 

A slow cool death, — nay, at times, when weary 

Of pains that pass not, and pleasures that pall, 

When the temples throb, and the heart is dreary 

And life is dried up, you could even desire 

Through the flat green weeds to fall and fall 

Half asleep down the green light under them all, 

As in a dream, while all things seem 

Wavering, wavering, to feel the stream 

Wind, and gurgle, and sound and gleam. 

And who would very much fear to expire 

By steel, in the front of victorious slaughter. 

The blithe battle about him, and comrades in call? 

But to die by fire — 

Oh that nis:ht in the hall! 



J5 



And the castle burned from base to top. 

You had thought that the fire would never stop. 

For it roared like the great north-wind in the pines. 

And shone as the boreal meteor shines 

Watched by wild hunters in shuddering bands. 

When wolves are about in the icy lands. 

From the sea you might mark for a space of three days, 

Or fainter or fiercer, the dull red blaze. 

And when this ceased, the smoke above it 

Hung so heavy not even the wind seemed to move it; 

So it glared and groaned, and night after night 

Smouldered, — a terrible beacon-light. 

Now the Earl's old minstrel, — he that had suns; 
His 3'outh out in those halls, — the man beloved. 
With the silver hair and the golden tongue. 
They bore him out from the fire ; but he roved 
Back to the stifled courts ; and there 
They watched him hovering, day after day, 






To and fro, with his long white hair 

And his gold harp, chanting a lonely lay; 

Chanting and changing it o'er and o'er, 

Like the mournful mad melodious breath 

Of some wild swan singing himself to death, 

As he floats down a strange land leagues away. 

One day the song ceased. They heard it no more. 

Did you ever an Alpine eagle see 

Come down from flying near the sun 

To find his eyrie all undone 

On lonely cliffs where chance hath led 

Some spying thief the brood to plunder.? 

How hangs he desolate overhead, 

And circling now aloft, now under, 

His ruined home screams round and round, 

Then drops flat fluttering to the ground. 

So moaning round the roofs they saw him. 

With his gleaming harp and his vesture white: 

Going, and coming, and ever returning 

To those chambers, emptied of beauty and state 

And choked with blackness and ruin and burnins 

Then, as some instinct seemed to draw him. 

Like hidden hands, down to his fate, 

He paused, plunged, dropped forever from sight; 

And a cone of smoke and sparkles rolled up, 

As out of some troubled crater-cup. 




As for the rest, some died ; some fled 

Over the sea, nor ever returned. 

But until to the living return the dead, 

And they each shall stand and take their station 

Again at the last great conflagration, 

Nevermore will be seen the Earl or the stranger. 

No doubt there is much here that 's fit to be burned 

Christ save us all in that day from the danger! 

And this is why these fishermen say, 

Sittino; alone in their boats on the bav. 

When the moon is low in the wild windy nights, 

They hear strange sounds, and see strange sights. 

Spectres gathering all forlorn 

Under the boughs of this bare black thorn. 




H 489 85 



p 



'^^ ^-tt:-' ./ 










0.0- .\0 













«>5 °-o «1 



•> 



- .^^,- y^'"o ''5^1!^:" o'"%. ^^«<*^ .h*""o *'>«^7 0^ '^\\'W^/ J-^ o„ , 



















°^ -- = ' ^0 



















.* .^' V 







**,<-* .-•Jfe--. *-^../ :-Mjk. %.A^ :SS&: %...*' ••' 



/.•;■ 




-/^"i^ 




V'^^ 




















A <» *'Tr^* ,6^ "^ 'o . . • A 










o 




^^/♦'^-\^^' ^o^'^rrr-'/ 'V*^-\*^ %'-^*/ •^^,**.-- ,v -^ --- 








<"> 



<jv .^.^ .,.0- 0'^ V**..^ ^. 




0^ ..'-.,'^'c 




C" ♦ 










^^* 










^^-^^^ 




^•l^ 





'o 'o..' A <v *.T.T^ G^ "^ -o\T» A <v *?^T* ^G^ ^^ 








A-^\ 



V ..r^'.^ o 






rr 




• » • A 























<> *^T:t* ,g^ ^5, 'o . . • A <. ♦T^TT^ .G^ "^ -o . . * A ^ 






0" , 



:■^ 



<*. 















>^ *. 




,,•1^ 



1^ .'•<>, <; 



■•v^' 



^-.n^^' 



-^..^^" 



^,. v^ 



'•^v.^'^' 



V-^" 



^y 










.V °i. ^o-" A° ^^ •" «<>■ -^ 




0.0' .0 *;» ♦ . , > • 0,V 

v^ 

♦ av -St. 




•"• .« 



■i^n 







'bV" 









♦ o 








0.0- . \/"^'f\/'' %"-7^''/ "V**" 

^<,'^^\o^^ \-T.^.'A^ ^<V.'^^\o*^ \.*'-^\<^ V-^^\o^^ \, 
























/ v^*^ ''^^. -.^^%,^/ >^ > -J 









.*' 







» aV 'S'j. • 







o • • • A >. J, - . • • ■ w — , 





0.0- .0 ''^ 







*^ . 




•^/-o^ 

.•1°^ 




<J> ^ - o , "V 



• ^«" 














«5°^ » 



•"• .-?.^ 




v" .^i::^!'* ci 





a5°-<. - 







9^ '"'•'* A <* 'v;«* jy %i) -o..» A <» -..-.. 




**./ ••^'- %/ ••^^••. %.** -A'-: ^./ ••^C^'-. 'V^'' • 



*^' 











"^ vT 

0^^ ^ 








.^ /. 

















V ,.'VL% -o. 










> A 





'bv" 







1^ »r 



c°\c:^''^°o 















• .* 







•'^' ^^^ S*. '«"■» A," <^ •■• .V -^ 

'b. '»..' A <. *rl!^s« 0^ 'b 'o..' A <;* '.•' 







HECKMAN 

BINDERY INC. 

" Wm^ N. MANCHESTER, 
^0' INDIAN A 46962 



1.^ O- 





V -o..* A <r. *?rvT* 0^ 'b '»..• A <r, 

0^ ^o 'o^.T' A ^^ */:-rT' 0^ "*b 




V 



-^^0^ 



.^ /^fe-. \/ .'^^o %,^^ ;^\ \/ '^^ 









c^ , 







LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



014 528 208 1 




mm 

'''li'liih'ih 



. ;' f -■-•■' 






•mm 

mm 



